


Pies, Highs, & Nice Guys

by mcnegan



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-01 18:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcnegan/pseuds/mcnegan
Summary: Through hardships and hell, everyone deserves a little redemption and happiness.





	1. Chapter 1

It always starts off innocently enough – skipping out on classes here and there until you up the stakes and start playing hooky for one or two days a week. Before long, you find yourself failing your classes and being reprimanded for your increasing absence at every turn. Defiance and rebellion get the best of you and soon enough, you’ve dropped out of high school entirely. You’re running with a bad crowd and that bad crowd quickly becomes a dangerous one. Next thing you know, you’re in over your head, madly in love with a drug dealer and even more in love with the narcotics he pushes to make a living. 

Or at least that’s how it happened for Riley King. The once innocent, doe-eyed, and straight-laced little angel fell into a deep, dark hole of damning decisions. The sheer wrongness of it all _thrilled_ her, she just couldn’t get enough. She lived for the high of being bad until it wasn’t enough and she had to be _worse_. Her life spiraled out in a series of misjudgments and mistakes before the mental high wasn’t enough and she started chasing a physical one. 

Riley found that high in the form of Julian; a tall, charming, and dangerous drug dealer ruling the projects of Chicago. Long after her parents had kicked her out and left her to her own devices, Riley moved in with a stripper named Candi. Candi was wild and adventurous; she loved to party and Riley had gotten caught up in the wily girl’s antics. 

That’s how she ended up meeting Julian. In the midst of a full-blown, lively party in a downtown crackhouse, she was powerless to resist his smooth talking and Rico Suave-esque façade. Between the excitement of the mysterious man and the cocktail of party drugs buzzing through her veins, Riley fell hard and fast. Barely coming into her own as a young teen, she thought for sure _this_ was what love felt like. 

Their relationship burned hot and fast. Their connection was purely carnal and borne from a need to live on the edge, but that energy proved to be disastrous when channeled into the wrong emotions. The feverish passion of the pair could be paradise on a good day, but on a bad day, it was violent and dangerous. 

With the honeymoon phase of their swift relationship abruptly coming to an end, Riley found herself fighting with Julian more and more. Their fights were vicious and often times physical, landing each of them with their fair share of bruises, busted lips, and bleeding noses. Things got to be too much for Riley and she wanted out, but that’s when the drugs got involved. 

Not wanting to let Riley go, Julian was desperate to play any card to convince her not to leave him. Preying on the somewhat naïve girl’s desire for danger and exhilaration, he’d taken her hand and led her straight down the rabbit hole of hard drugs. It was a world he was well-versed in and one she had no hopes of navigating on her own. 

Pumping her delicate veins full of heroin seemed to restrengthen their attachment and Julian thought perhaps this would fix them, maybe bring them back together. However, the drugs fixed their relationship the way duct tape fixes a fault line. Things between them seemed bearable for some time, but the rift caused by the differences in their very beings was too large to ever be patched. Julian’s vindictive offering of drugs had only managed to drive Riley headfirst down the dark and tumultuous road of addiction. 

Too strung out and doped up to give a shit, Riley took every bit of Julian’s growing abuse, never once saying a word in complaint. He hit her, hurt her, and humiliated her; treating her as nothing more than a stray dog. And Riley was too far gone to do anything about it; sticking around and clinging to Julian like the lost puppy he thought she was. 

Somewhere deep down, Riley still loved Julian. In some sick sense, he was the only person who ever showed her attention, even if it wasn’t the loving kind of attention she longed for. She would do anything for him just to win his affections – kill for him, die for him, suffer for him. And suffer she did. 

When Julian’s hold over the dirty underworld of drugs began to slip, he grew more aggressive and even more vile. The couple was neck deep in heroin addiction and they were willing to do anything to get their next fix. Desperate to win his love back, Riley began selling her body to derelicts and pimps in exchange for measly amounts of drugs. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep herself and her beau on an even keel. 

Riley sank deeper into the disgusting way of life, no longer recognizing who she was, but still hating herself regardless. The worse things got, the more she drowned herself in alcohol and drugs to numb the pain. She’d become some horrible lowlife; a promiscuous tweaker, willing to do anything just so she could bang another speedball into what was left of her ruined veins. 

Riley’s salvation had come just in time, much to her relief. She was frail and deteriorating, vibrating and sweat-soaked as she eased into a soul-crushing withdrawal; her body too destroyed to take much more of the abuse she’d spent months inflicting on it. Stumbling out of the building of her latest escapade and finally smacked out of her mind on the most recent acquisition of heroin, Riley hadn’t seen the squad car parked at the end of the alley. Julian strolled at her side, stuffing the baggie of brown powder into his pocket and acting as inconspicuously as possible as the officer approached, but it was too late. They’d already been found out and caught. 

On her way to the police station, Riley could barely make her drug-soaked brain process what had happened. The steel cuffs dug deeply into her slender wrists, a stark reminder of how much trouble she’d gotten herself into. Little did she know, her fate would be much more fortunate than that of her boyfriend. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Squinting in the blazing winter sun, Riley pulls her leather jacket more tightly around her tiny body. Even after a 6-month stint of court-mandated rehab, she hasn’t managed to gain much weight. The process of cleansing her body of the deadly drugs had been a grueling and painful one, but somehow seemed a better option than spending any amount of time in jail. 

She’d gotten off easy as she hadn’t been in possession of any drugs when she and Julian were arrested, but the judge had still ordered her to attend a rehab facility followed by a year of Narcotic’s Anonymous meetings. Much as Riley is dreading the mindless and exhausting class full of preaching, holier-than-thou assholes, she knows it’s a step up from prison. Julian hadn’t been so lucky and she counts her lucky stars that he hadn’t dragged her down with him when he’d been sentenced to jail time. 

With the rehabilitation pamphlet clutched in her skeletal hand, Riley climbs into the taxi idling on the corner and recites the address of the local homeless shelter. She watches out the window as the dreary scenery of the slushy Chicago streets zips by. She’s glad to be out of the brain-washing hellhole, but she doesn’t know where to go from here. After skipping from drug dens and brothels for the duration of her drug-filled days, she’d never settled down anywhere. Still, her parole officer required an address of residence and she’d opted for the homeless shelter, so that’s where she’s headed. 

Handing over the wrinkly 20 dollar bill one of the nurses had given her at the center, Riley climbs out of the cab and trots across the sidewalk and inside the brick building, desperate to get out of the biting cold. Inside, she’s met by the kind face of an older woman who offers a warm smile and a warmer greeting. 

Stating her name and giving some brief information, Riley lets the woman know that she’d called about reserving a permanent room. The woman eyes the plastic bag dangling from Riley’s fingers before digging around and handing over a small box of necessities. Riley follows the diminutive woman down a dimly lit hall to a room bearing a small number “3” in the center of the wooden surface. 

“Here you are, dearie,” the lady mutters sweetly, unlocking the door before handing the key to Riley and letting her know that dinner is served at 5. 

A small, polite smile graces Riley’s lips as the women gives her some privacy and Riley shuts the door with a small click. Digging inside the plastic bag containing her meager personal items, she pulls out her phone and charger. She hadn’t been permitted access to her cellphone in rehab and she knows the device is going to be filled with hordes of people wondering where she’d disappeared to. Plugging the phone into the outlet next to the twin-sized bed, she leaves it for several moments to suck up enough of a charge to turn on. 

The tiny rectangle illuminates, coming to life with a series of steady vibrations as a slew of texts, missed calls, and voicemails stream in. Riley sifts through everything, growing more and more disappointed as a majority of the messages are people looking for either drugs or sex. No one cares about her, they just want to use her. 

Discouraged by the complete lack of loyal friends in her life, Riley opens her camera roll and scrolls through the collection of photos depicting her and Julian. In several of the photos, she can see a variety of bruises, cuts, and black eyes; the reminder of the abuse she’d endured makes her sick to her stomach. Moving with incredible speed, Riley flicks through every photo, deleting each one and successfully erasing all physical evidence of her past life. She isn’t that person anymore and she’s ready to start fresh. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

The staccato vibration of her nearby phone rouses Riley from her deep sleep. For once she wasn’t forced into and out of bed at a scheduled time and she is absolutely reveling in her new freedom. Rolling over, she lifts the bright screen towards her face, cringing at the early hour. She doesn’t recognize the number, but seeing the local area code, she decides to answer. 

“Hello?” she grumbles, sleep still seeping into her gravelly voice. 

“ _Riley King?_ ” the voice prompts, awaiting Riley’s confirmation before continuing. “ _It’s Gayle Johnson, your parole officer. Just wanted to give you a call and remind you that we have a meeting today. I can pick you up. The address you provided was for the Lincoln Park Community Center, correct?_ ” 

"Yeah, yeah I’m there,” Riley speaks more clearly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I can be ready by 9:30, does that work?” 

“ _Perfect, I’ll see you then_ ,” Gayle chirps, ending the call with a swift farewell. 

Riley rolls out of bed, shuffling through the scant pile of clothes she’d been given in rehab with a groan as she tries to find something suitable to wear. Everything she owned before was either torn, dirty, or too skimpy to be worn anywhere but a strip club. The clothes from rehab aren’t much better; everything too big or too ugly to really suit her needs. Settling on a pair of worn gray skinny jeans that are two sizes too big and a long sleeved tee that hangs off her frame, Riley decides this is the best it’s going to get. 

In the bathroom attached to her tiny room, she ruffles her hair in the mirror. The deep black dye has worn and faded to a gross, murky mud shade and Riley vows to go shopping for some new clothes and dye as soon as she has the money. Glancing in the mirror, she studies her slender face. The various piercings she’d acquired over the years remain in place though they seem disproportionate and out of place on her recently thinned face. Her eyes seem sunken in the dark circles wrapping around the sockets and Riley mentally adds new makeup to her list of needs before she heads outside. 

Leaning against the brick exterior of the shelter, Riley shivers beneath her winter coat as she waits for Gayle. Her parole officer mercifully shows up in a few short minutes and Riley climbs hastily into the heated interior of the car parked along the curb. The two share in brief conversation as Gayle informs her that she’s set up a job for Riley. As a condition of her parole, Riley has been given 30 days to find employment and she’s relieved that she won’t have to go job hunting. 

Gayle pulls up to a drab looking diner and urges Riley to follow her inside. It’s the kind of restaurant that looks slightly questionable, though inside it’s greasy, fattening food is guaranteed to leave you satisfied and happy to return. Easing the glass door open, Riley is hit with a warm gust of fragrant air as she and Gayle step out of the blistering cold. 

Weaving around the red leather upholstered booths, Gayle leads Riley to the front counter, instructing her to stay put while she makes her way to a tall, rugged man in the corner. Riley watches their exchange nervously, wringing her cold yet clammy hands together when the intimidating man levels his gaze on her from across the diner. He seems less than thrilled at whatever Gayle is saying and Riley huffs out a breath as he starts to pace across the restaurant towards her. 

As the man approaches, Riley takes in every aspect of his appearance. His hair is light brown, graying at the temples and a fluffy but appealing mess. Thick-framed glasses sit atop his sharp nose, magnifying his dark, golden eyes. His pink lips are surrounded by a short salt-and-pepper scruff that’s on the verge of being long enough to qualify as a beard. She spots a tattoo on the right side of his neck, though she can’t quite make out what exactly it is from where she stands. 

Finished with her perusal of his face, Riley flits her eyes over his outfit. He’s dressed casually in a white t-shirt, dark jeans and gray jacket. For a moment, she finds herself vaguely attracted to the middle-aged man before remembering just how much trouble falling for a good-looking guy had caused for her the last time. 

“So, you’re another one of Gayle’s hard cases, huh?” the man gruffs in a smooth, deep voice that jolts Riley out of her own musings. “Charlie Peters,” he introduces, thrusting a large hand in her direction. 

Taking the hand, Riley nearly cringes at the strength of his hand shake. He stares intently at her and she suddenly feels an inexplicable spear of anger. She isn’t some stupid, simpering little child who can be intimidated with a mere stern look. Returning the pressure of the formidable handshake, she introduces herself in return. 

“Riley King,” she offers, her voice strong and confident. 

“Minimum wage plus tips. Good shift, you’ll bring home 12 bucks an hour. If it rains or snows, closer to 8,” Charlie rattles off. Riley flicks her eyes briefly to Gayle, caught off guard by the way the man had jumped right into his little spiel. “You wait tables before?” 

“Uh, no. I haven’t,” Riley responds hesitantly. 

“You come in drunk, you’re fired,” he asserts. “You come in high, you’re fired _and_ I call Ms. Johnson here. We clear?” 

Riley nods in understanding, slightly put off by the man. She’d met him only seconds ago and already he’s standoffish and demanding. She may have made some seriously stupid decisions to end up here, but Riley doesn’t appreciate being talked down to in any capacity. Living on the streets since she was 16 had hardened her and she would never take bullshit from anyone. She hopes she won’t have to make that point within the first five minutes of meeting Charlie, lest she ruin her chance of getting this job. 

“You got a meeting?” Charlie implores. 

“Not yet,” Riley offers, furrowing her brow slightly. 

“NA or AA?” he asks. 

“NA. Al-Anon too, I’m guessing,” Gayle provides from beside Charlie, causing Riley to turn her head away in shame at the disdain filtering into Gayle’s words. 

“I got a meeting down the street at the episcopal,” Charlie offers, his voice softening only slightly before he turns to a blonde girl behind the counter. “Jackie!” he calls as the girl approaches and he proceeds to introduce her. “Jackie Scavello, Riley King. Take her in the back, set her up with a locker, show her the ropes.” 

With Charlie’s passive dismissal, Riley follows the pretty blonde girl behind the counter. Jackie seems cold and unwelcoming to Riley’s presence and she rolls her eyes at the other girl’s moodiness. She’s dealt with more than enough catty girls in her life and she isn’t going to put up with another bitch. Making her way to the lockers in the back, Riley hopes that this job works out and she gets the second chance at life she knows she deserves.


	2. Of New Starts And Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley attends her first meeting and realizes she’s actually going to have to make an effort to better herself.

The bitter cold of the late Chicago winter bites harshly at Riley’s skin. Even with the thick coat wrapped around her body and pulled almost to her eyebrows, she can’t seem to get warm. She strides quickly – albeit begrudgingly – down the icy sidewalk towards the church. Today is her first NA meeting and she’s already dreading it. The idea of having someone tell you what a fuck-up you are and trying to guilt you into sobriety is just about the last thing she wants or needs. However, if she wants to keep her ass out of jail, she has not choice but to attend. 

A short distance away, Riley spots a small gathering of people huddled on the sidewalk. She can’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would be standing outside in these temperatures with a warm building sitting mere feet from them, but who is she to judge? Pacing rapidly towards the group, she recognizes the tall man standing within the group. Dressed in a leather coat and a lumpy black beanie, she sees Charlie, cradling a small cup of coffee with a cigarette smoldering between his long fingers. 

“Good to see you,” Charlie rasps, blowing a stream of smoke over Riley’s head. 

Riley nods in response, looking nervously between Charlie and Jackie who stands at his side. Jackie informs them that the meeting is about to start before turning away to leave them together on the sidewalk. Riley twists her lips in displeasure as she gazes at Charlie who is watching her with an amused smirk. It’s then that Riley finally notices the ink on his neck is a large scorpion and she nearly asks him what meaning it has before stopping herself. 

“After you,” Charlie offers with a smile, reaching out to hold the door open as Riley slips inside. 

Walking side by side down the empty hall, Charlie directs Riley into the only room with the lights on inside. She nearly stops in her tracks at the sight of the circle of chairs around the room, filled with people and looking very much like some kind of creepy cult meeting. Riley hesitates enough that Charlie feels the need to skim his fingertips over her lower back, directing her to a section of empty chairs. She flinches at the sensation of his hand on her spine, barely refraining from telling him off or punching him for touching her. Feeling squirrelly and agitated, she takes a seat and makes sure to move as far as she can from Charlie’s large form as he sits beside her. 

The meeting begins and Riley immediately tunes out the monotonous droning tones of the leader’s voice. She has absolutely no desire to be here. She knows what her problem is and she knows addiction is a battle she has to fight every day, no matter how many months she’d already spent in rehab. 

Riley hates the idea of being treated like a baby or like she needs a helping hand to deal with her own fucked up choices; that much is obvious in her closed-off body language and drifting eyes. She vaguely hears the group beginning to introduce themselves and admit their particular drug of choice and she dreads the moment when her turn to speak up comes. 

“I’m Charlie and I’m here because I was addicted to heroin,” the man beside her gruffs. 

Riley almost rolls her eyes at his penitent tone, wanting to smack him for being so ashamed of his addiction. She doesn’t know why, but she can’t stand the idea of someone making her feel bad for being an addict. Riley is well aware of her issues and she’s already moved past them, so the idea of acting like she’s sorry for her past is bizarre to her. Everyone in the group turns their attention to her then, and she sighs deeply before shifting in her seat and addressing them all. 

“I’m Riley and I’m here because a judge told me to be,” she states bitterly with a cocky shrug of her shoulder. 

Her snide comment is met with a variation of low laughs and judgmental sidelong glances, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t owe these people anything and she’s only going to be here until she doesn’t have to be. She doesn’t need their help or their sniveling, pathetic little heart-to-hearts about the dangers and damaging consequences of drugs. 

With her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, Riley spares a quick glance to her side. Much to her shock, Charlie is glaring at her with a disappointed look. He shakes his head in disapproval before turning away to continue listening to the group leader babble on and on about some self-acceptance and inner strength nonsense. Riley considers getting up and leaving the meeting, but she knows she must log the hours of the meeting she attends until she’s off parole, so that isn’t an option. 

When the meeting finally comes to an end, Riley hops to her feet and heads straight for the door. Everyone else gathers in pairs and small groups within the room, but she has no interest in sticking around to be pals with any of these people. Riley strides speedily down the hallway before a deep voice calls out from behind her. Peering over her shoulder, she groans to herself as Charlie strolls leisurely in her direction. 

“Not exactly a good start,” he states, looking down at her. 

“Excuse me?” Riley bites back as she waits for him to clarify his vague words. 

“You know…you’re lucky to have the chance to get your life together and make something of yourself,” Charlie utters, his voice taking on a more serious edge. “Maybe you need to make an effort to appreciate that. You have to be here either way, so how about you stop making it so difficult on yourself and just accept the help.” 

Riley widens her eyes at the man in front of her, hardly believing the gall he has trying to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do. “Listen, you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through or what I need. I’m here because I _have_ to be, not because I need help or a bunch of struggling addicts to tell me not to touch drugs again,” she hisses. “You’re my boss, not my sponsor or even my _friend_ …so stop worrying about what I’m doing and mind your own fucking business.” 

“You keep up with that attitude and I won’t even be your boss!” Charlie calls after Riley as she whirls around and crashes through the front door of the church, not turning back as she flips him the bird on her way out. 

• • • • • • • • • • 

Working at Patsy’s Pies turns out to be a really good thing for Riley. Even after her first few weeks, she’s still getting used to the routine, but she finds that she enjoys it. The sometimes hectic pace of her work day is exhausting, but it keeps her from doing anything stupid. The bone-deep desire and yearning for drugs is always there, but her new job is a welcome distraction from the urges she wars with every day. 

Riley has even started getting along with Jackie and Charlie. Jackie’s icy disposition had thawed out after a few weeks and she quickly became Riley’s closest friend. The blonde girl went from quiet and dismissive to loud, boisterous, and hilariously inappropriate. She and Riley carry on all through their shifts, sometimes receiving a brief scolding from Charlie about disturbing the customers when they behave too obnoxiously for his tastes. 

Even Charlie has started warming up to Riley’s presence. Following their spat in the hallway of the church, she’s since apologized and promised him that she’s going to try being more open to the meetings. As much as she doesn’t want to be there, she has to admit that _maybe_ she could learn something from her attendance. While she may still be somewhat reluctant about the NA meetings, Riley has more than thrown herself fully into her work. 

Dressed in her uniform of a light gray t-shirt bearing the moniker of the establishment, Riley flits her way energetically around the restaurant. Most patrons eye her suspiciously; with her dark hair, heavy black eyeliner, and various pierced facial features, she’s exactly the type of person most people try to avoid. However, the moment she opens her mouth with a friendly greeting and a kind word or two, they usually warm up to her fairly quickly. 

Whipping her small notepad out of her apron, Riley takes order after order from the tables in her section before running them back to the window of the kitchen to deliver them to the chef. During a lull in her duties, she grabs a glass of ice water, leaning against the counter as she shares a laugh with Jackie. 

“That guy in the corner keeps staring at you, Ri,” Jackie giggles, poking her fingers into Riley’s sensitive sides. 

“Stop it, no he isn’t,” Riley counters, not wanting to believe that the attractive man in the corner is paying her any attention. 

“Yes, he is,” Jackie sings in a taunting and high-pitched voice. “He probably wants to get a slice of your pie.” 

Riley grabs a towel off the counter and whips it in Jackie’s direction. The girl takes off with a squeal as she grabs a tray of plates and delivers the food to her customers. Riley lets out a heavy sigh, leaning limply against the counter as she sips her water. 

“You okay?” Charlie ask as he rounds the counter on his way to the kitchen. 

“Jackie is harassing me,” Riley whines with false distress. 

“Well, I’ll spank her later,” Charlie threatens with a sarcastic smile. 

Riley grins evilly as she jumps at the chance to flirt with the older man. “Her? What about me?” she wonders sweetly, tossing a saucy wink and a teasing giggle at Charlie. His face gives away no emotion at her taunting, though he seems to be studying her intently. 

“Guy at table 13 requested you,” he gruffs blandly, seemingly unimpressed with Riley’s flirting and unhappy with the man in the corner booth clearly vying for her attention. 

“Oh, cool. If you won’t spank me, maybe Mr. Corner Booth will,” she offers slyly before flouncing away with her own tray of food. 

After delivering the plates to each table, Riley tucks the tray under her arm and struts to the table in the corner. The man sitting there appears to be in his late 30’s with slicked-back blonde hair, a strong jaw, and bright blue eyes. He’s not anywhere near Riley’s type, but if he wants her attention, he’s going to get it. 

“What can I get you, hon?” she ask brightly. 

“How about your number?” the man wonders with a leering grin. 

“Why don’t you give me your name first, Hot Stuff, then we’ll talk,” she retorts with a wink and a bite of her lip, easily falling back into her old ways of using her sensuality and charm to get anything she wants from a man. 

“Isaac,” he responds, reaching out for a handshake. Riley accepts, placing her delicate hand in his and gasping playfully as he uses the grip to pull her closer. “Riley,” he whispers as he reads the silver tag dangling near the collar of her shirt. 

Riley pulls away before taking the man’s order and traipsing off towards the kitchen. Charlie emerges from the swinging door of the kitchen, glancing briefly at Riley as she returns to the table of a particularly troublesome customer. 

The overweight man has been hounding her all afternoon, ordering massive amounts of food and demanding one thing after another, making her run back and forth to meet his every demand. As the man gets up from the table and heads for the door, Riley snatches up the bill from his table, rage coursing through her when she sees the rude man has left her no tip. 

“Excuse me, was there a problem with your service?” Riley calls after the man, unable to stop herself from following he and his wife down the sidewalk. “Is there a reason you didn’t leave a tip or–.” 

“You were slow!” the man grunts, cutting Riley off. 

Riley rears back at the man’s audacity, letting her indignation overpower her professionalism as she begins to yell at him. “Was I slow or was it that your fat ass couldn’t wait 10 minutes for the disgusting amount of bacon you ordered?!” 

Charlie steps outside the restaurant after spotting Riley through the window and makes his way over to get to the bottom of the issue. Just then, the man’s wife rounds on Riley, reaching a pudgy hand up to slap her across the face. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Charlie calls out as he wraps an arm around Riley’s waist and pulls her away from the couple. “That’s enough! Do I have to call the cops?” he threatens before turning to Riley. “What’s wrong?” 

“Fat bastard didn’t leave a tip,” Riley snarls while pointing an accusatory finger at the man. 

“I wanna talk to your manager,” the man implores in Riley’s direction. 

“You’re talkin’ to him,” Charlie states seriously as he steps in the man’s face, placing himself protectively in front of Riley. “Sir, respectfully, if you can’t afford to tip, you can’t afford to eat in my restaurant.” 

“Seriously?” the man ponders in disbelief. “You’re gonna side with this little slut?” 

Those words prod Charlie into action and he snatches the sweaty collar of the man’s shirt, pushing him forcefully against the outside of the building. He gets in the man’s face and cocks his arm back before Riley calls out to him and pleads with him to let the man go. 

“Apologize to my waitress… _now_ ,” Charlie growls dangerously. “And then walk down that street and don’t ever come back here again, got it?” 

The man nods frantically, desperate to escape Charlie’s aggressive grip. He fixes his rumpled clothing before uttering a pathetic apology to Riley and then turning to leave with his wife. Riley looks up at Charlie’s angry face, tasting the metallic blood oozing from her split lip. 

“You okay?” she asks gently. 

“Your lip is bleeding,” he observes peevishly . “Get inside and clean yourself up.” 

Riley watches Charlie walk away, her feet rooted to the spot as she processes what just happened. Twisting on the heel of her worn Converse sneakers, she trots back inside the restaurant. She wets a paper towel and dabs it against her sore lip. Charlie watches her from across the restaurant and she can’t understand why the man seems to be shooting daggers at her. Delivering a platter of food to one of her tables, she passes by him on her way back to the kitchen. 

“You mad at me now?” she questions. 

“You’re on probation, Riley. Fighting in the streets and causing trouble with customers? Why do you continue to stir shit up?” he reprimands. 

“Stir shit up? I went out there to ask about my tip, you’re the one who turned into a rabid dog,” she defends. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Charlie responds vaguely before turning and walking away from her. 

Riley watches him leave, confused by his attitude with her. She already feels bad enough about acting out the way she had, even without his disapproval; she thought she had more control over her aggression. She doesn’t need her boss looking down on her for standing up for herself on top of that. Jutting her chin out defiantly, Riley resumes her work, trying to deny how much she hates the disappointed look Charlie had given her earlier.


End file.
